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Code 200 RED - LAPD Rampart Station Under Attack

01-24-2018, 12:01 PM

Code 200 Red – Rampart Station Under Attack
By Kieth Moreland

THIS IS A TRUE STORY

In LAPD pre-planning, the call of “Code 200 Red” indicates that Rampart Station is under attack. All field units are to either respond directly to the scene, or stage nearby to assess the nature of the attack and respond, in force, to deal with the problem. Rampart, to those assigned there, is known as The Castle. The Castle logo, complete with the numeral 2 is seen on stickers, in artwork, and even tattoos worn by current and former officers who have worked there. One day, in the early-2000’s; the Rampart family specifically, and LAPD generally, almost suffered a tragedy of heretofore unknown, but likely epic proportions.

Off all places, I was comfortably seated in one of the bathrooms of the 50 year-old Rampart Station, on a warm afternoon. My gun belt was hanging on a hook. There came a pounding at the door with a panicked voice yelling, “Evacuate the station, we have to get out, NOW!” My first thought was, “Yeah, right.” The noise died down as the doorknocker moved on. I could hear his voice continuing its repeated message off in the distance, then realized that it was becoming strangely silent. I hastily finished my business and exited the bathroom. The back door to that particular part of the station door was in the process of closing. The wind was driving a few papers in the room, and there was a set of boot soles running out to the parking lot. Something, I guessed, was really going on.

Rather than the parking lot, I went toward the lobby of the station. My nose was overpowered by the scent of gasoline. More faint shouts and cursing were heard. The lobby was cleared of human beings, a rather unusual condition for a weekday afternoon. The floor was host to a pool of liquid. The gas. The pool stretched the entire length and width of the lobby. A red five-gallon jug lay on its side. A partially opened sliding box of wooden matches was laying on the floor. About a half-dozen matches were strewn about the floor, as if the box had been snatched from someone’s hands and suddenly discarded.

Outside of the front doors and on the steps the struggle between a team of officers and a very large, bald, and sweaty man, dressed in work boots and soft clothing was over. He was handcuffed and seated on the walkway.

Moments before, five foot eight and 300 pound Bedros Sogomonian (not his real name) had walked into the lobby of the station, hefted the opened plastic jug up and began emptying the contents onto the floor. Mindless of the cops, no doubt, but equally unconcerned with the members of the community, two women with children in the lobby, who were there to report a crime. As the desk officers challenged him, he threw the near empty jug down and produced the box of wooden matches. He held one and began to move it toward the striking surface.

The desk officers had vaulted over the counter and were on him, now, struggling for control of his arms and upper body. The officers seemed unable to stand and move without slipping. The rubber soles of their boots were melting in the gasoline. Not so, Sogomonian. He, for some reason, was astonishingly able to hold his ground and move with confidence.

A woman officer drew her gun and pressed the muzzle into his side. One of her male counterparts screamed not to fire, fearing the flash might ignite the fumes in the air. She re-holstered her gun and jumped on the back of the man who outweighed her by close to 200 pounds. With three cops on or about him, Sogomonian lost control of the match box and began to try and leave the lobby to the street. On the steps the officers finally won the wrestling match when the handcuffs put an end to his struggle. He was winded and restrained, unable to fight any longer.

With the suspect in custody, those officers not concerned with Sogomonian moved on to reclaim their castle from the invader. All doors were opened to ventilate out the gas fumes. All electrical power was cut. A dry chemical extinguisher was discharged to take up space in the fuel rich air. A broadcast was made to advise all units to avoid the station, using neighboring divisions. The Fire Department was requested. A call was made to the local towing company for any and all kitty litter on hand to be brought to the station. Wait, kitty litter?

Kitty litter is used by tow trucks to soak up liquids at the scenes of car crashes. They usually have large bags and bags of the stuff on hand. Viertel’s Tow, a private company under contract to the City to provide towing and vehicle storage services brought hundreds of pounds of the product to soak up the gas. When the Fire Department Captain was eventually on scene, he was pleased at what he saw in regards to cross-ventilation, cut power, and dry chemical discharge. The arrival of the kitty litter boosted his spirits even more.

Bedros was only too happy to explain his actions – he wanted the world to know his complaint. His mother was still in bureaucratic limbo, from Armenia, in regards to her US immigration status. He was very angry with the Federal Government, so he’d decided to get attention by burning down a police station. He had actually staked out, studied and evaluated burning down either next-door Wilshire and Northeast police stations. He finally decided that Rampart would be the only one he could have been successful with. He was wrong.

His pre-planning had included wooden “strike anywhere” matches and special non-slip soled footwear, resistant to both oil and fuel, hence his ability to walk in the gas without slipping. His plans had not, however, taken into account that Rampart cops were not going to run. They were not only going to fight back, they were going to win. Many lives were saved that afternoon by the intervening officers, way beyond their own.

Questions for the reader:

How would your station react for an attack similar to this?

When preparing a case report for filing, what items speak to the suspect’s intent?

Do you and your fellow employees know where to cut power to the station?

"You're never fully dressed without a smile."

Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

Three things I know for sure: (1) No bad deed goes unrewarded, (2) No good deed goes unpunished, and (3) It is entirely possible to push the most devoted, loyal and caring person beyond the point where they no longer give a 5h!t.

Comment

I will say with an absolute straight face... those things don’t happen where I work, why should we prepare for that. Why are you even in the station and not in the field?

We use rented office that isnt fortified beyond the installation screws used to put the hollow core door in place. “We don’t want to be bad neighbors by making it look like a police station.”

Please tell me your joking???? I think with today's current climate of ****ed off people, folks not caring about cops let alone Lone Wolf tards, that something that should be brought up at briefings and discussed.

I'd rather be judged by 12 rather carried by 6.

It should be noted that any and all post that are made are based on my own thought and opinions. And are not related or implied to represent the department I work for.

Comment

It’s tongue and cheek. Some of my Admin see the threat and recognize the major deficiencies that we have. Despite their best efforts, they are still blocked from correcting these safety concerns because even higher Admin are more concerned with the budget.

We dont have desk officers, unarmed none sworn can interact with the irate public.

We couldnt shut off the power to one of our offices without impacting 5-6 other renters (businesses).

Comment

I remember that day Kieth. Unfortunately I was on morning watch so I missed the whole incident, although I remember coming to work that night and seeing what was left of it. Crazy type stuff that helps make this job exciting and interesting.